Mission Of Desire Part 15

"You mean you knew about my necklace?" She could hear a faint thread of hysteria in her own voice. Stella was referring to the engraving, wasn't she?

"While you were sick in Kenya, we saw the inscription on your necklace. Your father seemed to enjoy puzzles."

"Then why didn't you get the key to the safe deposit box yourselves? Why did you wait for me to figure it out?"

"We had no idea what that inscription meant. We had to be patient. We knew you would solve the riddle."

Well, that only leaves 410 questions that still need answering, Nicole thought, once she was alone.

She laid her head back against the chair, her fingers fiddling with the necklace, tracing the letters engraved into the silver. The hint of a grin touched her lips. It was almost amusing. Almost. She'd been wearing a key to a lost treasure around her neck for the past twelve years, taking it off only to shower or swim, never once thinking there could be a double meaning in the words inscribed into the metal. She recalled all the years that followed the day her father had given her the necklace, the hard ones; the times when she'd watch her mother deliberate thoughtfully about which meat to buy. Usually the choice was limited to ground beef or chicken cutlet. The widowed woman's decision always came down to which of the two proteins she could stretch into not one but two or three meals that her finicky daughters would hopefully eat with as much gusto the third night as the first. A teacher's salary paid the bills, but barely. True, no one in their house had ever gone hungry, nor had the electricity ever been threatened to be turned off, but two girls were a bit expensive to care for in the new millennium, especially when one of those demanding little brats was Liz and the area of Maryland they lived in was one of the more affluent. Being popular in their school required the right clothes, and the right clothes did not come cheap.

So had her father hidden away the stocks and cash simply to conceal his secret life from his family? If so, why hadn't he instructed Gavin Thomas to disclose the contents of the safe deposit box upon his death? Why all the mystery and intrigue? Perhaps, like Kira said, her father didn't think he would die. Perhaps no one does. To some degree, we all feel we are immortal, she mused, getting up and investigating the room. And her father most likely had antic.i.p.ated the life insurance policy from the petroleum company would have been ample funds for his family to live on for years to come, never imagining his wife would listen to her financially imprudent brother's c.o.c.kamamie advice to invest the bulk of the policy money in a dot-com company that went belly up ten months after it started.

The mini-bar called out to her, disrupting her thoughts. The only thing she'd eaten all day was a few bites of the cheeseburger and the piece of stale cake early that morning. With a fascinated trepidation she eyed the bountiful a.s.sortment of jarred nuts, cookies, and candy bars organized so appealingly on the shelves. The least expensive item most likely cost eight bucks. It didn't matter, she told herself. She deserved a treat.

After extracting a king-sized Snickers, a heavy gla.s.s container of cashews some marketing major had labeled "fancy," and a can of Diet c.o.ke from the tiny refrigerator, she crawled into the king-sized feather bed, promising herself that she would consume an extra serving of vegetables at dinner to make up for her unhealthy diet of late. She plopped a few nuts into her mouth, but her hunger wasn't such a priority as sleep suddenly was. Her eyelids were growing as heavy as cinder blocks, and she was having a very difficult time keeping them open.

Chapter Twenty-four.

Nicole woke, trying hard to make sense of the luxurious bed linens and b.u.t.ton-tufted leather headboard. Since she'd slept in so many different places over the past two weeks, it took a moment for her memory to catch up with her life. Her head throbbed and a thick coating covered the inside of her mouth. She smacked her lips and swallowed, a piece of cashew making its presence known in the back of her throat. She'd fallen asleep, but for how long?

Flinging the lush bedspread aside, she reached for the unfinished can of Diet c.o.ke on the nightstand, hoping to remove the awful residue from her tongue. She was terribly thirsty. The clock next to the can read 6:15. Surprisingly, the soda had already gone flat. In three hours? Fuzz like the cork of cotton in an aspirin bottle clogged her thinking.

What was wrong with her?

She felt-weird.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she noticed her duffel bag had been moved to a luggage rack near the bathroom. Perched atop the blue nylon weave was her canvas handbag. The last time she'd seen the camel-colored sack, it had been nestled between her two sandaled feet on the floor mat in Danielle's Escape.

Someone had been in her room.

Ambling lethargically over to her handbag, she peeled open the flap. The stocks weren't there.

Her heart did a suspicious little flip inside her chest. She walked into the adjacent parlor, looking for signs of another's presence, but everything appeared exactly the same as it had a few hours ago.

Blood was beginning to pulse through the fogged circuits in her head. She hurried back to her bag, pulling out her cell phone. No need to hide from Bogie any longer. When at last it was able to connect with a signal, a tiny digital envelope appeared on the screen indicating she had a voicemail. She called and listened to the message.

"Nicole? Nicole, it's Mom. Where are you? Are you there?"

As if Nicole could hear her mother and respond.

"Okay, well, we're down here in the lobby. We'll wait for you a bit longer before we go to the dinner."

Nicole listened to the message again, this time not rus.h.i.+ng past the date and time stamp. The voicemail had been left at 7:37 p.m.!

Last night!

Panic started to flood through her. Running to the window, she pulled apart the gossamer curtains. Could the pale gray sky really be the early haze of morning instead of twilight?

She hit the power b.u.t.ton on the television remote and quickly scrolled through the channels, her mouth agape. The local DC news teams were all giving identical updates on Friday morning's weather and traffic before the networks took over at seven. She glanced once again at the digital numbers of the clock, the reality finally breaking through the nimbus of confusion muddying her head.

It's morning.

She'd slept for over twelve hours! Her eyes moved to her bag, still sitting where someone else had placed it.

Stella had drugged her.

The stocks were missing from her bag.

Danielle hadn't been holding a gun.

"s.h.i.+t!" she cursed out loud.

The puzzle pieces started to fit. Her mother's teaching license had been mysteriously revoked. Stella was an expert computer hacker. It was all starting to make sense-too much sense. If Nicole called down to the front desk and asked to be connected to Kira Anthony's room, she was almost certain the hotel clerk's polite response would be, "I'm sorry, we don't have a guest here by that name."

But she didn't do it, couldn't yet. At this point, she wasn't ready to face that. And if it was true, it didn't matter-Kira would be long gone by now.

She stripped off her clothes on her way toward the bathroom, paying no heed to where they fell. She needed a hot shower more than anything. She felt dirty, and the heated water would her wake up and shake off whatever was left of the drug still clouding up her brain cells. Less than thirty minutes later, she was riding down in the elevator feeling decidedly better equipped to deal with whatever insanity this day would bring her way. She'd dressed in khaki capris, a cream-colored V-neck long sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt, and her sandals. Her casual attire suited her just fine-or so she thought until the elevator doors opened and she remembered she was not only at the Ritz-Carlton, but was five minutes from the Pentagon.

Despite the early hour, the lobby was already teeming with a loud, chatty crowd; all were clothed in either expensive business suits or in resplendently decorated military uniforms. But regardless of attire, all of them had that look of pompous self-importance that she'd grown accustomed to while going to school here. These were the movers and shakers: politicians, lobbyists, government officials, and their hangers-on.

"Is there a military conference here this morning?" she asked the concierge politely, trying to keep her voice steady. But before the stout woman behind the desk could reply, a voice called out above the noisy din of human babble.

"Nicole, there you are! We were just about to go up to your room. We were beginning to get worried!"

Nicole spied her mother and sister strutting through the dignified mob. Her mother seemed to be perfectly at ease in the setting, dressed in an elegant blue skirt suit, her short brown hair sh.e.l.lacked into the shape of a helmet. Liz was dolled up to the nines as well in a gorgeous yellow dress. Her husband trudged along behind her, looking bored as usual.

Nicole had never been so glad to see her family as she was at that moment.

"You missed quite the dinner last night. Guess who sat just two tables away from us?" Her mother's heavily made-up face was alive with excitement. She didn't wait for Nicole to respond. "The secretary of state! Can you believe it? She's some smart cookie, I'll tell you that much. So well spoken and articulate," she gushed reverently. "It was a dinner given for the Women Officers Professional a.s.sociation. After her speech, everyone gave her a standing ovation. Maybe someday Hillary will try running for president again. I bet she's still here at the hotel and you can introduce yourself. You never know, she might need an intern. That's how all these people get their sw.a.n.ky positions, hobn.o.bbing with one another at places like this."

Nicole tried to take it all in, but she felt as if everything was happening in some other dimension and somehow she was stuck on the outside looking in. Her mother searched the lobby, as if Hillary Clinton would appear simply because she'd willed her to do so. Now was probably not the time to remind her mother she'd voted Republican in the past two elections.

Her mother's attention returned to Nicole. "Oh, my, Nicky, look at you. You're wasting away to nothing. And what on earth are you wearing?" Her wrinkled face grew dark with disapproval. "Why didn't you put on the dress or the skirt I brought you? I was afraid you wouldn't look in the closet. All that ironing for naught," she bemoaned. "You know it's always better to be overdressed than underdressed. And why do you insist on lugging around that dirty backpack?"

"It's a shoulder bag, Mom. And it's not dirty, it's beige," she replied, looking back and forth from her mother to her sister. What were they doing here? How did they get here?

Where were the stocks?

"More like the color of mud," her mother replied through pursed lips.

"Get a load of the s.e.xy blond heading our way," Liz whispered into her ear.

Nicole turned. She recognized the chiseled cheekbones and square jaw immediately. It was the helicopter pilot, Mike. He was wearing a suit and tie, his gold hair neatly combed to the side. The dark suit fit his frame perfectly, the white of his s.h.i.+rt matching his smile. What was he doing here?

But right behind walked a beautiful woman deeply engrossed in what appeared to be a very heated discussion with someone on the other end of a cell phone. Nicole felt the air leave her lungs in a single gasp.

Kira.

She hadn't run off.

But the momentary burst of joy inside her chest died almost as soon as it began. Kira was here, but with the pilot. Jealousy stabbed at her, like hot scissors held over a flame before being plunged into her heart.

And there was another feeling under the jealousy, ripping at the very fabric of her being, a pain unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

Their groups merged and all at once her mother was busy making conversation with Kira (who was no longer frowning into her phone) as if they were old acquaintances.

"h.e.l.lo, Nicole," the pilot greeted her warmly. "Great to see you again."

Nicole couldn't find her voice. A surge of pugnacious adrenaline streamed down her arm and straight to her fist. She wanted to punch this guy, and here he was smiling genially at her, an engaging twinkle in his long-lashed eyes. If she couldn't punch him, she at least wanted to kick him. Hard.

She was faintly aware of her mother ogling their interaction, a hopeful antic.i.p.ation oozing from her every pore. She could feel Liz studying her. And Kira too. She might as well have been on stage and charged them each admission.

"Did you know Mike's uncle is Senator Adams?" Her mother's penciled brows rose.

"Mike's a pilot but earns his living as an engineer," Kira said casually, moving to stand next to her. Nicole remained motionless, instantly aware of the heat she felt between them. "He runs his own aviation company. Although most of my brother's business is civilian and involves the manufacturing of copters and parts, occasionally we'll ask him to do some flying for us."

"Brother?" Nicole stiffened in shock.

Only now did she see the resemblance in their regal bone structure, the unusually light blue eyes, and their confident, poised posture. She sighed audibly. Mike and Kira were siblings. She said this inside her head and repeated it a few times so it could sink in.

And when it finally did, the dark emotions that had been strangling her ten seconds ago evaporated into thin air. It took her still another moment to digest the fact that the great Senator Adams was Kira's uncle. The man was a legend in Virginia, serving in the Senate for the last twenty years or so. He'd been a major force behind the movement to repeal the military's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy.

"Yeah, but I think we can all agree Kira definitely didn't inherit my fabulous karaoke skills," Mike teased, grinning at his sister, who smiled back at him.

Everyone laughed, leaving Nicole feeling as if she'd walked into the theater twenty minutes late. Act one was already nearing the end.

Karaoke?

What had happened while she'd been in a drug-induced coma for twelve hours? Had everyone gotten drunk? She would've given her right arm to see Kira Anthony doing something as silly as singing up on a stage. Definitely alcohol must have been involved, she concluded. There was no way someone as tightly wound up as Kira Anthony would ever let loose that way while sober.

"As you all know," Kira said, her eyes coolly guarded when they met Nicole's, "I asked you to meet me down here this morning because we have some important business to discuss. If you'll come with me, there's a conference room reserved for our privacy. They'll have breakfast waiting for us as well."

They all followed Kira through the lavishly decorated hotel. Even now, with both her sister and mother walking next to her, Nicole could feel the s.e.xual chemistry between them. It was like a living thing, tugging and pulling at her. How could something invisible be so intensely physical? Mindful of her sister's watchful gaze, Nicole attempted to steal a few inconspicuous glances.

Kira was wearing a simple vanilla-colored jacket with matching slacks. The melon-colored s.h.i.+rt she wore underneath the jacket gave her skin a flattering glow. Her hair was pulled back into a clip at the base of her head. Nicole looked away, only to find Liz staring at her. There was a knowing look in her eyes. Nicole blushed. She'd been caught.

"Mmm-hmm, I thought so," Liz said, her voice brimmed with a gloating satisfaction.

Kira showed them into a boardroom with a polished gold plaque at the door reading, The Consulate Room. An oval table monopolized the small s.p.a.ce. On the other end of the wainscot-paneled room, two members of the hotel's catering department were busy fussing over several silver chafing dishes and coffee urns.

Nicole took a deep breath. The alluring aromas of coffee, bacon, and maple syrup made her stomach growl.

There was a balding man in his mid-forties already seated at the head of the table. He lifted a battered briefcase from the carpeted floor and placed it in front of him. He looked to Kira. She nodded her head slightly.

"Good morning, everyone." He pushed his chair back, stood, and held out his right hand to each of them. "My name is Jim Durcan. I'm a friend of Kira's. I'm with the Department of the Treasury, but I'm meeting with you in an unofficial capacity this morning."

Her mother had been stirring sugar into her coffee, but abruptly froze. Recalling the letter from the IRS hidden inside her desk, Nicole understood her mother's angst.

"Please grab some coffee and something to eat," he said, returning to his chair, "and then take a seat. Then I will explain why I'm here."

Kira took a stance in the back of the room. Her brother Mike was nowhere to be seen. At some point, he'd discreetly taken his leave.

"I'm here to share some wonderful news with all of you. Yesterday afternoon, Kira came to my office with an envelope. She asked me to a.s.sess a value to the certificates inside." He grew excited, for a few seconds looking more like a six-year-old than a forty-six-year-old. "For those of you not familiar with the term, bearer shares are simply paper certificates. Whoever holds the certificate owns the stock. Bearer stocks are no longer common and haven't been for many years. They were once popular in offsh.o.r.e jurisdictions for perceived confidentiality, but we're a global society nowadays and no one can hide from taxes anymore."

Nicole looked at her family's faces, seeing confusion and incomprehension. It was obvious Kira hadn't said anything to them about the stocks last night, and they were clearly wondering what he was talking about.

"The stocks inside that envelope had been issued for a company called Sinopia over a decade ago," he droned on, completely oblivious to his audience's bewilderment. Only Nicole understood what he was saying. She was listening attentively to his every word. "Back then, Sinopia was a fledgling petroleum company listed only in Hong Kong and London." He removed a set of horn-rimmed bifocals from his suit pocket and placed them over his ears. His hands shook slightly as he pulled a doc.u.ment from this briefcase. "Today, Sinopia ranks as the fifth largest oil company in the world. What I'm trying to tell you is," his voice quivered, "even in today's rough market, the conditions being what we all know they are, the certificates in that envelope are worth roughly two million nine thousand and eighty-six dollars."

Chapter Twenty-five.

"No freaking way." Nicole looked into Jim Durcan's nondescript features and saw confirmation of the outrageous fortune in his raised brows and expectant grin. Her initial disbelief evaporated. "Two million nine thousand and eighty-six dollars. No wonder everyone was chasing after those d.a.m.ned pieces of paper!"

A brilliant jubilance flowered inside her chest. Kira was one of the good guys. And her mother was rich. She slammed her hand down on the table, a giggle of delight erupting. She glanced quickly at Kira. Her expression was no longer indecipherable. She was smiling and her blue eyes were unnaturally bright.

"Mom, you're rich!" Nicole practically shrieked, a wide grin tearing at her cheeks. She jumped from her chair, elated. Her mother stared at Jim Durcan with baleful eyes, her lips pursed tight and her face drawn with disapproval as she shook her head.

"Is that what this is all about?" She pushed her cup of coffee from her and stood up. Looking at Nicole, she spoke in a choked voice. "I was wondering what had gotten into you. Africa for a week, then coming home and pulling apart everything in the attic. Is that what you were looking for?" She was looking at Jim Durcan's briefcase as if the stocks were inside the leather box. "Your father had the audacity to hide contraband in my house?" Her bottom lip quivered. "That's blood money, and I want nothing to do with it."

She made to leave, but Kira stepped forward from the shadows. "Wait, Jane. Please. As I mentioned last night, this is important."

Nicole watched her mother reluctantly return to her seat. She fiddled with the spoon she'd used to stir sugar into her coffee cup, obviously uncomfortable. "I knew Luke was into something bad," she murmured quietly. "That last year of his life, he was secretive and jumpy. Now I finally know why. I spent the past ten years looking over my shoulder, worrying about you girls. Ten years none of us can ever get back," she said through gritted teeth.

"Would someone mind telling me what the h.e.l.l is going on?" Liz asked, looking back and forth from Nicole to her mother.

"Your father was a thief," Jane Kennedy said, shame in her voice as she pulled her cup toward her then took a sip of coffee. "There. I finally admitted it out loud. I tried to keep it from you girls, but I knew one day the past was going to catch up with us."

"Your husband was no criminal, Jane," Kira said firmly. "Quite the contrary. Those stocks were rightfully his, and now they legally belong to you. While working for Davenport Petroleum as a geologist, Luke Kennedy was also working undercover for the Defense Intelligence Agency."

Nicole's jaw dropped. Just when had Kira been planning on sharing this piece of information with her?

"He was an IGO, which is short for Intelligence Gathering Officer. The Defense Intelligence Agency is a Department of Defense combat support agency. Luke's role, quite simply, was to collect information relevant to whatever case he was a.s.signed. Traveling to Middle Eastern countries as an employee of Davenport provided an excellent cover. And at some point in his tenure, he wisely requested payment for his services in the form of those bearer stocks currently in a locked safe back in Jim's office. Your husband was a very smart, very brave man. He died serving his country."